Antonin Dolohov
by The Lady Arturia
Summary: A ficlet of Antonin Dolohov through the years- from when he begins following Voldemort till the Second Wizarding War. Enjoy.


**Antonin Dolohov**

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"_There is no greater sin than letting live those who deserve to die."_

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**c. 1945**

He rushed through the cobble-stoned hallways and tore down the Grand Staircase, barely catching his breath as he came to a stop in the Entrance Hall. He swivelled his head back and forth, his dark eyes intently searching for the one person he needed to speak with before he was gone. Not finding the pale-faced Slytherin male amongst the sea of seventh years that were getting ready to leave Hogwarts, he cursed loudly, raking a hand through his slicked, black hair.

"You seem awfully distressed, Dolohov."

He whipped around at the cool voice and his face split into a grin. Striding up to the older boy, he bowed slightly and said, "I have been looking for you, my lord."

The pale-faced youth tutted and tapped the other on the shoulder. "What have I said about addressing me so when we are in the midst of others, Dolohov?"

"Of course, my lo—sir," he finished uncertainly and the older boy scoffed.

"Call me Riddle, Dolohov, are you that daft?"

"Yes sir, Riddle."

"That's a lad."

Someone called for the older boy just then and with a fleeting look over his shoulder, he strode away—but not before saying, "I expect to see you in a few years' time, Dolohov, amongst my close circle of confidants."

He bowed deeply, a triumphant smile adorning his otherwise plain features. He would go in search of his lord as soon as he escaped the confines of Hogwarts. He would be one of the very first followers of the Dark Lord.

He would be one of the very first among the Death Eaters.

* * *

**c. 1965**

He laughed as his curse caught an unsuspecting wizard in the back, slamming the old man into a wall. Flicking his wand, he watched as the old wizard flipped over, twitching and trembling, his eyes round with fear.

"That is quite enough, Dolohov, now is not the time for games."

Instantly dropping his hand, he bowed his head as his lord strode up the deserted main street of Hogsmeade. The wizard who was once known as Tom Riddle, now known by the self-acclaimed title of Lord Voldemort, was slowly rising to power. Most magical folk who delved in the Dark Arts knew of his name and many others were beginning to fear him.

He himself was one among the very few who deeply revered and deeply feared the Dark Lord. But although he was one of Lord Voldemort's most loyal followers, even _he_ was unable to fathom the workings of his lord's mind.

"It is time, my lord," Nott said softly, bowing so low, he was half-bent at the waist.

"It would seem so," his lord whispered, lips curling into a sneer and eyes flashing. "Then, my friends, we shall meet again once I have successfully entered Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

And so saying, the Dark Lord disappeared in a swirl of black smoke, leaving behind the four wizards who had come along to wish him luck.

"Is our lord actually attempting to secure the position of the professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts in Hogwarts or is this all some intricately planned farce that we don't know about?" Mulciber murmured and the others shrugged.

His lord was much too great a wizard for a mere Death Eater like him to understand the workings of his evil genius.

* * *

**c. 1975**

Bloodcurdling screams pierced the silence of the night as the two blood-traitors writhed on the frost-covered ground. There was a shrill cackle beside him as Bellatrix Lestrange, the newest addition to the Death Eaters—for the name was far more fitting—flicked her wand and screamed, "_Crucio!"_

The Prewett brothers' ear-splitting screams rang in his ears and he couldn't wipe the grin off his face as he flicked his wand, adding his own Cruciatus to Bellatrix's. The three other Death Eaters present laughed as one of the brothers began to slowly crawl away and in their laughing, someone set the wizard on fire.

"This is far more entertaining than I anticipated," Rodolphus Lestrange yelled, slashing his wand and wrapping a coil of rope around the ankle of the Prewett on fire, dragging him back into the circle.

The other Prewett somehow managed to get on his knees as Rosier hurtled a jinx at him and stumbled towards his brother on fire, mumbling a feeble, "Fabian, Fabian, stay with me!"

"Gideon, you must escape—you must return home to Molly—"

"Enough chattering!" he yelled, slicing his wand through the air and watching as deep gashes tore through the brothers' clothes, causing them to fall over each other, hissing and trembling in pain.

Bellatrix was dancing on the spot, a maniacal expression on her face. "Finish them!"

Loud whoops of agreement sounded from the other Death Eaters as flashes of green shot out of each wand, hitting the brothers and silencing them. He snorted as someone said something about disposing of the bodies, turning and walking away, the quiet of the night broken only by Bellatrix's mad laughter.

* * *

**c. 1981**

He whipped through the tall grass, wand slashing back and forth as he screamed curses. His lord was rumoured to have fallen at the hands of the Order of the Phoenix and it was now his job to flee to safety before he began to search for his master.

He swore as his foot caught against something and he went sprawling, falling flat on his face. Hissing at the sharp pain that erupted in his head, he rolled onto his side and lay there, in the wet mud, breathing heavily.

There was a shout from his left and he stilled, slowly pulling himself up. He crouched down and peered over the top of the tall grass, his eyes darting around to find the source of the scream. He had just spotted two silhouettes running through the field when he felt the back of his neck prickle.

He stayed absolutely still as he felt the cold creep up from behind him, the crackle of ice freezing everything around him, causing his panic to rise. Slowly glancing over his shoulder, he was glad that the tall plants offered him cover as he looked for his pursuers.

And then he saw them—black forms gliding just above the surface of the grass, their hooded heads twisting from side to side as they tried to find him. His heart hammering in his chest, he inched backwards, his fingers frozen from the cold and his teeth chattering.

Very carefully, he looked behind him, trying to spot the Lestranges, but he felt the air around him go frigid. Fear creeping through his veins, he swallowed thickly and peeked over his shoulders—only to see the gaping hole in the Dementor's hood as he felt the cold sweep over him and felt the happiness leave his very soul.

* * *

**c. 1996**

The cells of Azkaban were filthy and disgusting. The smell of rotting flesh and excrement filled his nostrils as he sat leaning against the bars, the cold metal pressed against his face. He heard a disturbance from his left and strained to find the source of the sound.

Soon the shouting and yelling grew louder and before he knew it, an Auror went flying down the dingy corridor and smacked into the wall. He rose slowly, a mental cackle escaping his bared teeth as he waited.

He hadn't waited very long when he heard the piercing screech of the reinforced bars being ripped open, followed by the familiar cackle of a madwoman. Twitching with excitement, he rasped as Bellatrix stumbled into sight, wild curls cascading down her pale face and giving her the look of the madwoman that she was.

"Antonin, my friend!" she screeched, raising a wand that she had probably nicked off a corpse. He immediately stumbled back against the far wall as she flicked her wand, muttering the counter spell for the reinforcing magic placed on the cell.

He felt the familiar shudder of the spell being undone and there was a blast of light and he whopped as a fizzing hole appeared in the bars. Shouting jubilantly, he staggered out, falling into Bellatrix's open arms and letting her half-carry him down the dimly lit corridor.

Three floors below, they came across Rodolphus as he sat on a pile of corpses, scarfing down a filthy looking piece of raw meat.

"Rodolphus, come," Bellatrix snapped at her husband and the trio slowly made their way out of Azkaban.

Once outside the dark fortress, Dementors surrounded them and Bellatrix threw her hands in the air and laughed. "Take us to our master, you disgusting creatures! Our lord awaits us!"

Fifteen years of rotting in the prison and he had never felt as alive as he did just then.

* * *

**c. 1997**

"Are ye sure they're here? Eh, Dolohov?"

"Ask me that one more time, Rowle, and you won't have to bother looking for them."

The other Death Eater grunted in response as they crept out of their hiding place and inched down the street towards the Muggle café he had seen Harry Potter and his friends enter. He threw out a hand to still Rowle as he peered through the glass doors, noting that there were barely any Muggles within the small diner.

He nodded. _Good, it'll make our work easier if there's less Muggles to kill._

"C'mon, Rowle, let's go. Act normal."

The burly Death Eater made a face and the two entered casually, striding towards the counter. He inspected the items on display as Rowle glanced over his shoulder.

"Don't be obvious, you fool, they'll find us out," he muttered, but the damage was done. From the reflection on the glass of the counter, he saw the Mudblood girl slowly rise and the two boys follow suit.

"Oh no you don't," he yelled, whipping around. "_Incarcerous!"_

The blood-traitor Weasley and the Mudblood raised their wands but he was too quick for the dim-witted redhead. The spell hit the boy, binding the lanky fellow and toppling him to the ground. Rowle was duelling with the Mudblood—both hiding behind tables.

Potter shot a stunner at him but he ducked behind the counter and shot a jinx from over it. The brat fumbled for a second—long enough for him to reach over the counter and yell, "_Expulso!"_

The spell caught Potter in the chest and slammed him into a wall. He rose with a grin, but before the boy dropped his wand, the Mudblood had aimed her wand towards the counter.

"_Petrificus Totalus!"_

He felt his body go rigid and he fell over, his mind screaming and swearing as he willed himself to move, to no avail. The trio must have taken care of Rowle as well, because he saw the Mudblood walk around the counter and point her wand at him. He stared at her, daring her to give him her worst, but he didn't expect the soothing feeling that came over him as the witch murmured, "_Obliviate."_

* * *

**c. 1998**

He stumbled, swiping at his forehead to get the blood out of his eyes. He growled as a student rounded the corner, barely registering the hesitation and fear in the girl's eyes as he raised his wand and shot the Killing Curse at her.

Rounding the corner and seeing one of his fellow Death Eaters outnumbered three to one, with a mighty roar, he ran to the man's aid, curse after curse flying from his wand. One of the students collapsed from a stray Killing Curse and the other two faltered for a moment—a moment too long, as he swished his wand through the air and killed them instantly.

Finding the Death Eater dead, he swore loudly and crossed the courtyard, letting fly curse upon curse, barely registering all the bodies that he made fall. He had just blasted the giant clock's pendulum when he felt a stinging sensation in his back and went hurtling forwards.

Rising with a groan, he turned to find the one who had hexed him through watering eyes, his eyes falling upon a certain member of the Order. A growl ripping from his throat, he staggered to his feet and lurched forwards, flinging a curse towards the treacherous Werewolf.

Having seen war himself, the man easily blocked the spell and with a quick stunner, ducked behind a pillar—before recognising his opponent. The pitiful fellow that he was, he then began walking towards the tower, his face twisted in a snarl.

"Dolohov!" he snarled, his wand slashing through the air and striking home.

"Lupin, you disgusting piece of filth!" he yelled, staggering back but bracing himself and sending a jinx towards the other.

"Is that all you can do?" Lupin yelled, twisting his wand around and yelling, "_Confringo!"_

"_Protego! Reducto!"_

"_Deprimo!" _Lupin screamed, dodging the blasting curse and instantly raising his wand.

"_Diffindo!" _he yelled, before Lupin could recover, and the latter only barely managed to dodge. He fell back against the wall and watched as Lupin coughed blood, swiping a trembling hand across his mouth. "Hah! Too worn out to fight, Loopy Lupin? Want me to help end your suffering?"

"Never!" came the feeble reply, and he ducked as a stinger flew over his head.

"Baby spells won't get you nowhere, you pitiful coward!"

"_Expulso!"_

"_Sectumsempra! _Come at me like a real man, Lupin! Or maybe I should go after your wife, eh, feisty woman that she is!"

Lupin roared and lunged forwards, but the worn-out man wasn't quick enough.

Raising his wand, he cackled and let forth a burst of green, with a triumphant, "_Avada kedavra!" _watching as the Killing Curse hit the Werewolf square in the chest. He laughed maniacally as the light disappeared from Lupin's eyes and he fell like a sack of potatoes, hitting the rubble-strewn ground with a sickening crack.

He stepped over the corpse and wheezed, blinking the blood out of his eyes and gasping as he caressed his arm where one of Lupin's jinxes had caught him. He kicked the body and was just about to move towards where Bellatrix was duelling the Weasley matriarch when a stunner caught him in the side, sending him sprawling.

He gasped, trying to regain the feeling in his limbs as he saw a small form come to stand over him. He squinted up through tearing eyes, identifying the mangled face of Filius Flitwick. Rasping with laughter, he tried to get up, but seeing that he couldn't, grinned up at Flitwick and said, "Long live the Dark Lord!"

He barely felt it when the Killing Curse hit him in the face, falling back and letting the darkness take over. His final, fleeting thought was that he had done what he had set out to do—he was a loyal Death Eater and had murdered more than enough in the name of his lord.

And he met a fitting end—for there was no greater sin than letting live those who deserved to die.

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**A/n: I have never mentioned Dolohov in any of my stories and never written about him, but I was asked to write a one-shot on him and this just happened. I'm actually rather proud of it. Let me know what you think! :D**

**This was written as a prep-run for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition- you'll be seeing more fics written for this next week onwards.**

**Lots of love~**


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